| The Poetry of Richard Sansom Published by The British Sansom Society | |
 
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| Arguments on Mornings I herald the mighty new of morning, arriving without sacrifice and no sorrowful burdens, fresh sinews flexing in the sunlight of original bliss, for the sunlight brings blessings of poetry and song for the dreamers awakened from the black death of sleep, and those holocaust moments seen riding the screens, those late night séances of living room scenes with children affixed to the promises arranged by saints and policemen riding the winds, waving to the crowds, recalling their days of glory….. yes, and knocking on doors with papers and warrants, But seeping through dreams, awaiting the dawn a monster of incipient dread calls out to open our eyes and pull back the curtains where morning reveals a mélange of gray horror, a nothing suspended yet calling us forward, to walk contorted and fade into vacuums for that is what’s there, like parlors of velvet in mansions of stone, with histories laden with lichen and bone, with our history as cement and conclusions awaiting our hammers, our guns and explosions. No – wait – no dream can inform us that our awaking can possibly harm us, that reason abounds in only the fearful, and they are the lonely, condemned and tearful, that dances can cure the malodorous reminders that history lingers and history controls us, we wake with remembrance but also with notions that tomorrow is perfect until it is blemished and all our joys and emotions unfinished are managed by light we find in the moment with our perfect sight. Mornings are lovelier than history, they have the blessings and nurture of an intended grace, and who could dissuade one from that holy grail, that tomorrow is beautiful, tomorrow is grand, and mornings are banked by the fires of the mind. | |
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